Ni Sayyun Asa

This blankness is so known. I know you, I have known you for a long time. So reminiscent of my past. It constituted of poetry and blogs and wistful sighs. This was a phase, yes? What are you doing here now?

I am so dissociated I can’t feel the pain. I know I should cry or something, and I also know that I can do it. Here’s how it will go: I will put on my headphones and open my once-forgotten Soundcloud list. And I will turn on those old songs, that were each about this last phase. The blogging phase. The infatuation and the pining and the very emotional phase.

The songs will bring me back to that ‘dark’ sacred place. Which is not dark as in negative, but a mystical place I used to write about in my poems and prose. A place where I met Me. Or You? Us.

But I don’t want to listen to songs at the moment. I might give in to the temptation or direct my attention completely elsewhere. Painting would be productive but the issue is it won’t make me feel.

Is it worth it that you can’t feel pain when it also means you can’t feel joy?

And it’s not like I can’t feel any pain or that I haven’t cried in ages or what. I cried today morning only. Also perhaps yesterday or day before. You know how it is. But I am talking about THIS thing.

I’m not overwhelmed, promise. I’m more than ever trying to be kinder and adjusting to the process: awareness, sit with it, nourish or nurture. Don’t avoid. Don’t distract. And come out stronger, yah?

Ni sayyun asa naina di akhay laggay ni sayyun asa naina di akhhay lagay.

Painting bhi banai thi na is pe. Spiritual Sufi type song hai. Not that I’m recommending a listen. Gunah e jaariya bilawajah.

I found this “hack” in Sufi songs. As if this music was allowed. These songs were okay. But you know the spiral effect, right? It starts and it takes you wherever. Also c’mon this isn’t a Majlis.

Am I talking to you again? I should not; how many times have I written for you. Blasphemy.

Blasphemy because you don’t deserve it. You’re bad enough as is, won’t let this be a pat on your ego.

And returning to myself. Isn’t it amazing how you are the master of your thoughts? You can choose where your attention goes.

My attention at the moment is on these words. I can’t tell you where else. Had to erase because privacy.

But I did call a friend yesterday and told her about things. Not because I wanted to share, honestly I was barely feeling my own story, but because she knew someone who could help.

It felt selfish as I thanked her for being the only one I had confided in. She said it felt nice to talk after so long. I want to remind her today to talk to the person who can help but you know how when you ask help without asking for help and then have to pave a way around it? Wow, sucks. And what if she read this!

I would think she wouldn’t. I know they’re all really busy. And also nothing is the same anymore.

It’s like loadshedding but in my mind. 💡

La lala lala. Should I keep writing or should I stay thinking? Is this even helping?

Hello, safe space?

Hmm. Here because everyone else shunned ya out? Uh-oh. Okay, what brings you here where you’re not even real. But reality can be so scary, you know that already. Never judge anyone on fearing it. For not being their harmless-for-others untrue self.

Still so complicated, your sentences. Ew. Told you I didn’t like poetry. The f with you.

Acha what brings you here then? Go on, I’ll listen. Wow, ehsaan much.

I read this poem from twenty seventeen. Was going through my archives to find something to letter. I did pick a line from it that you see in the photo above. And then put the poem in the caption. Read it out:

All our issues and one

Sometimes,
When I should be elsewhere
Inside Dreams,
I lay awake instead, and
Assemble a questionnaire in my mind:
Everything that I have now yearned too long to ask you, I would;
“This is going to be a very, very honest conversation,” I will say.
It’s our final friendly law.
A sudden surge of happiness like a reflection of seven colors on my sooted heart—
If you call me again I might at least find my name
And as we’re talking, I will ask— no harsh feelings, hey!— but why did you think it was okay to do what you did?
How many others have you scarred the same way?
Alas! In the back of my mind the colors shift
A curtain closes
Rubbing the drama away in one swift move:
How will I know if you won’t still be lying?

---

Idk if the ending feels as clear to me now. I remember knowing back then also that it was vague but for me the meaning was clear. How will I know if you wont still be lying, huh? Ajeeb matlab. Duh.

ANYWAY. I’m ranting to not think but I’m thinking all sorts of things. With so much speed that it’s hard to catch up. Painful that I can’t take your and your and your name. Matlab pagal hi bana diya.

Sigh. My bud-dua or yours? I remember this other poem — feels like another life when I wrote those but hey, — and it talked about the dua part will remain even after nothing else does. And then I think I mocked it in the same tone. I totally meant the mocking, you know? Because you’d think it’s a “good dua” while it might not be? And other meanings so f it too.

It’s such an important day I don’t want to use a wrong word. Especially when I’ve kept the decency salamat so far. eh tainting the image now? No please. Wont even dare.

Phew. All our issues and one. This late night. This needed apology. This lack of understanding. And not me. For once, I’m not the issue.

Paints and pictures

What color is death?
And what color are regrets?
How would you paint life
and how do you draw strife?

If death is black
life should be a glaring white
but if life is white
where do you find bright?

If moments like grey stones
hurled in a calming blue,
create ripples and regrets
what color do they finally set?

If life is a scenic beauty
where do miseries come from?
what colors do they make when
a hungry child murders men?

how do you define an odor,
like that of coal or incense?
how do you distil two paints,
those of sinners and saints?

Where do I mend my canvas
or a palette if it breaks?
what if all colors disappear
of fantasy, dreams, and fear?

Is confusion a diffusion
of black with white?
Is illusion the same
as reality set aflame?

If hope is a bright silver
and glittering desires gold,
what color are expectations
shattering without justification?

Pray tell if I find this out
what help will that be?
To all creation his own creator
and no color greater than He.

~ Randomly Abstract.

Bizarre. Beep. Sleep.

Caged bird
I will cut your feathers
And let you free, forever.

Old prisoner
I will slay your throat
And let you escape from here.

Little kid
Hand me your kite
And play with rifles instead.

Solitary girl
Sing me songs of mourn
For I will kill your mother now.

White teddy
Close your eyes tight
As I rip off your cotton bod.

Brave sailor
Laugh and rejoice
Until I draw a hole in your boat.

Wounded warrior
Count your last breaths
As I finally shoot this arrow.

Sweet baby
Smile once more, and last
As I snatch you away and throw.

–
– RandomlyAbstract.

Third Side Of The Coin

It’s cold here.. quite cold actually. The road is busy, very. No one is willing to stop, they’re all busy running. Passing by too quickly, without wasting a ‘precious’ moment, as if they’ll lose a race. Race, yes. They’re all trying to run and win. But not all can win, do they know not? There have to be just one. Just One!

One – Two – Three – GO! And off they start, to end. They run with the whistle and keep running, for a million reasons. Perhaps the best of them, those reasons, is to shut those voices within. Voices inside, outside, shouts. Good way! Temporary, but good. Good for them if they like it.

——-x

All eyes glued on her, they were all spellbound by her magnificent beauty as she entered in the main hall. And she deserved it, she was worth all praise. A delicate model dressed in red, designer jora on her big day, that elegant look those make-up men had given her from the parlor, and her looks! The bride stunned them all.

“Just perfect!”, she heard someone call. Someone, she knew. Someone, whose voice was easily recognizable among all chaos, all audience. She lifted her head and looked around, but failed to spot the carrier, the source of that wonderful voice. He was nowhere among the crowd, then where had he spoken from?
‘Oh, heart!’, she whispered as she realized where.

——-x

“It is glass, fragile. But it ain’t in any way ordinary! What it holds inside is very, very precious. I’m handing it over to you because I know that it belongs there. Just make sure you keep it safely. I also understand your way back down is tough, but you’ll make it there, won’t you? The road is dark, but if you act smart, you will do it.”

——-x

The hall shrieked as she screamed, most of them covered their faces with their hands. She fell on the ground, shouting for help, yet no one dared to touch her.
The bride’s face had burnt, and was burning still. His acid spray had caused cracks, burns, wounds. Cracks.

They began to laugh, all of them. They danced, drank, played, circled her. She cried silently as she felt herself being dragged into that dark, horrible abyss.

——–x

He kept running and running until he finally reached his ‘destination’. He had attained whatever he had wanted, faster than those who were still running. They hadn’t won the race, he had. Maybe because they were so busy running that they forgot what they were running after.

Just one wins. He had won ‘nothing’, and yet everything was now in his hands.

——–x

‘Marvelous! Just splendid!’, he praised his skills. ‘Master, you’ve carved the pot wonderfully, and those paint streaks make it look all the more charming! How do you do this? Carve pots out of mud, add such colors, make it look so real? So real, so magical, just wonderful!’

‘I am willing to pay you whatever you ask for, please tell me what you’d like?’

——-x

She stumbled as a stone hit her on her way on that dark, concrete road but she managed to keep walking. She determined not to let her bottle fall, but fate had decided otherwise. Many stones were pelted on her, in a continuous manner, until she finally fell and dropped the glass bottle of mercury.

The liquid turned into soft, small, solid balls and scattered everywhere on the black road. She looked at them, devastated. They ran everywhere, like beads from a broken necklace, and finally spread themselves all over the dark road. They glistened and shined, playing with the pebbles, as she saw them again with awe.

Finally, she stood up and wiped her forehead where it had begun to bleed. Another short sequence of beads dropped on the ground, and mixed somewhere in the concrete, with pebbles, and maybe some mercury.

Now she knew why the bottle had belonged to her.

——x

He wasn’t sure what was to be done, was he to keep his ‘masterpiece’ to himself or hand it over to him? Memories from the past flashed in front of him, and he found himself back in his childhood.

He adored his little, colorful bird. But he couldn’t cage her, because she said so. And he couldn’t trust her either, what if she flew away? She said she would never leave him, but he was too insecure because she was after all one of the most precious, loveliest birds ever created. So he held her carefully and cut her red and yellow wings with a scissor, most lovingly.

He smiled at his idea, at ‘God’s help’ and his instinct, and picked up his carved pot. Then he threw it far away with all his might and looked as it shattered into a million, unmendable pieces.

——-x

The End. [wtt]

Knock knock. Who’s there? Death.

Fire brigades.

Sirens. Smoke.

They are breaking glass.

Fire. Water. Splash. Life. Death.
Death. Fire. Splash. Water. Life.

Shatter.

Enjoy.

Die.

.

‘I don’t want you so near me, death. I lied when I said that I liked you.’
Pass me the juice please.

Filter what you speak.

“For instance, you want to express some feelings or opinions to someone, you want to confide in or confess badly. The moment you decide what you have to say, you make it pass through the ‘series of filters’. If you use ‘this’ particular word, the influence is different, if you use ‘that’ one, you fear to be misunderstood.”

Life of 24 Hours

Aphasia!! Yeah… no, a part of aphasia. I don’t know. I am seriously at loss of words. My ability to think, think good has been missing and I’m so eager to find it. The things now-a-days have started going so practical, there is no room for feelings. Even the feelings shown, have to pass through a ‘series of filters’. Filters!!! Yeah, I know most of us have faced this time and again or we ourselves have been doing it.

For instance, you want to express some feelings or opinions to someone, you want to confide in or confess badly. The moment you decide what you have to say, you make it pass through the ‘series of filters’. If you use ‘this’ particular word, the influence is different, if you use ‘that’ one, you fear to be misunderstood.

Every word you say, you need to weigh the pros and cons of…

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A little lie might work just right!

It was late last night

And all sane had slept!

I must sleep too,

To my bed I crept!

‘Why’d you bang at my door?’

Suddenly she appears.

‘oh why would I bang?’

Little sister, my dear!

‘Look, don’t lie’, she says sternly.

‘Look why would I?’, I replied casually!

‘Yeah right’, she’d snap.

And lean towards her bed,

But she won’t sleep.

Until she’s clear in her head.

So I plan to lie and turn to tell her that,

‘It could be mother who entered’, I tell her flat.

‘Oh could it be?’, she exclaims relaxed.

And sleeps peacefully while I remain perplexed!

© Maria Imran. <Randomly Abstract>

The Circular Zero and the Straight One!

What is zero?

Its the end of the creation.

Why is zero?

To explain the end of anything that begins.

•  Prove me?

The term zero, has no side-points. Its a circle, usually. And once it starts, it only stops at terminal point.

• Terminal point?

The end, I mean.

A circle has no end, right?

No, it moves on.

• Then?

Make a zero. Or make a circle. Or oval, if you prefer. The point goes non-stop and keeps on travelling until it reaches it’s destination. It starts once, like a baby born; small like a dot if life is a mini-circle. It travels, travels and travels. Ups and down, highest to lowest, light to dark, awfulness to awesomeness. Its journey is simple.

Relate this to everything that happens. Every day that comes. Start to end, another day, yet another, and it goes on. until ONE final termination. And then hereafter!

THAT ONE HEREAFTER IS THE CIRCLE. YOUR LIFE IS A STRAIGHT ONE. A LINE. START FROM HEAD, END TO TOE. FINISH. It does finish. But there has to be something in continual? That’s the circle!

Circle is mystery. Zero is existence to nothingness. Nothingness to existence.

Confusion is a new dimension!